I Love(d) You (Once)
by cleury
Summary: A deal gone awry finds Draco and Hermione in a comprising predicament. Aside from eyes rolling like dice, sarcasm, chaos and enmity what else could there be? Crazy people (friends), threats of terror, and romance, of course. EWE.
1. Prologue: Five Years Ago

_I Love(d) You (Once)_

Prologue: Five Years Ago

* * *

><p>They hated him for his vanity-<p>

But when he chose not to be,

They loved that he died.

—Eulogy for Lucius Malfoy in The Daily Prophet, 1998.

* * *

><p>Case 87 Year 1998 10 August<p>

Narcissa Malfoy is hereby declared guilty and convicted under the offence s 12A of Prohibition of Unforgivable Curses Act 1867. The jury under unanimous decision have been convinced beyond reasonable doubt that Narcissa Malfoy had not been under duress when she casted the Imperius curse on her son, Draco Malfoy. She had done this on fourteen separate occasions; each time to manipulate her son to undertake his Death Eater activities.

With Capital Punishment Act 1473 repealed, she has been sentenced to life imprisonment in Nurmengard with a minimum of thirteen years.

* * *

><p><strong>(12 June 1999; The shittiest birthday)<strong>

Today was Draco Malfoy's birthday. And true to tradition as it had been for the last eighteen years, the day was all about him.

Only this year it was for quite a different reason.

Instead of people coming together to celebrate his existence, an amphitheatre of purple-robed judges were deciding his fate. The head judge held up his parchment and began reading…

"Next case, Case 104 Year 1999 12 June."

There was still an angry murmur of discontent within the public. Maurice Pucey tapped Draco on the shoulder and nodded at him. He took a shaky breath and refused to look at his mother as she brushed past him, escorted by two Aurors.

The door slammed behind him and everything was silent aside from his tight leather loafers squeaking against the cold marble floor.

"The Crown has laid three counts against Draco Malfoy," read the Judge. "As established in the last hearing, he is accused of being a Death Eater, casting Unforgivables and the attempted assassination on Albus Dumbledore…"

Draco lowered his head and gritted his teeth; his heart pounded in his chest. _I'll be fine, _he thought. _Remember what Maurice Pucey's lawyers said to you. _

"All which have been proven to be under the influence of the Imperius curse—"

Blood roared into Draco's ears and he shut his eyes.

"The jury has decided a substantial proportion of the Crown's charges have failed under the confirmed facts in Case 87 Year 1998 10 August, and has allowed a successful defence of sane automatism. Medical experts have found the defendant had indeed been under the influence of the Imperius curse and his memories have been subsequently tampered with. The Crown has been unable to raise a satisfactory argument to prove their case beyond all reasonable doubt…" said the judge, and he cleared his throat.

Draco felt as though he was about to die.

"There has been a long standing rule a person cannot be criminally made responsible for their actions if the vital link between his mind and body has been severed. An act cannot become an offence on the defendant's part if there is an intervening cause beyond his influence and control. It seems a proper case to grant the defendant full acquittal.

"Draco Malfoy is hereby declared innocent and cleared of all charges."

"Yes!" Maurice did not hide his joy and punched his fist into the air. His lawyers cheered with fervour though they seemed to be part of the small proportion that was happy with this outcome.

"…Something is fishy…"

"…Definitely lying…"

Draco walked back to them with wobbly legs, completely drained by the ordeal.

Free.

Since the start of the Death Eater Trials last year, the Ministry placed him under house arrest and everyone treated him as the scum of the earth. Even after moving to three separate locations, death threats kept coming in.

The Warding community was not ready to accept Draco Malfoy as the victim of the Death Eater crimes. They cried for his blood and for a moment he thought he'd have to spend the next twenty years in prison.

Until he found out how his mother betrayed him.

"Well done, son. You did well." Maurice patted him on the back and began to lead him out of the court room.

"Next case!" the clerk yelled and another person stepped to have justice dealt to him in full.

Draco nodded and continued walking with Maurice clearing the path in front for him.

"What are your plans after denouncing the Malfoy name?" A horde of reporters flew into his face and asked.

"Would you still be able to claim your trust fund?" another one asked.

And then everything was all too much for Draco; he stopped in his tracks, looked up to the sky and burst into tears. He had held it in for the whole year—he hadn't cried once since the trials started. His parents had told him never to let his feelings show… but in the end, when did they ever teach him to do what was right? Cameras flashed around him and he didn't bother to hide his crying face.

He had enough of Britain.

* * *

><p>Herald, J. (1999, July). This Reeks of Bullshit. In <em>Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Student Magazine (Swish!)<em>.

The world is filled with surprises and the majority of them are bad. They range from misconstrued intentions to full-blown lies. The whole Malfoy case manages to cover BOTH ends of the continuum. Their story is utter bullshit.

Has nobody noticed Narcissa Malfoy pulled the oldest trick in the book? "My son was under the Imperius curse", blah blahblahblah! That's exactly how Lucius Malfoy got away with prison the first time. And how can Draco not remember having the Imperius cast on him? A memory charm's eaten most his memories from the last two years away? What an ultimate cop-out!

And I save the biggest hoo-ha for the last: at the scene of Lucius' "suicide", Narcissa and Draco Malfoy were with him alone. Fucking guard, how could you leave a family of deranged shits in the same room!

Do we believe the self-preserving git would kill himself?

We think not.

Who hates his daddy so much, he's won the honour of being the first pureblood to blast himself off his own family tree?

Draco Malfoy, the Karma Houdini of Our Generation.

* * *

><p><strong>(15 January 2000; Departure)<strong>

A couple stood beside a row of plastic chairs one floor above the check-in area at the International Terminal, locked in a tight hug more in familiarity than affection, ignoring the steady stream of people through the departure gates. One was a woman with an immaculate chocolate-brown bob, donned in a knee-length dress. She was Pansy Parkinson. She wore the colour of mourning because today was a farewell. She leaned forward and moulded herself into a man's fierce embrace. He was Draco Malfoy. He wore a crisp black suit for this special day. At this precise moment, Pansy was drowning him.

There were a few things Draco hated but tolerated for Pansy: an unmade bed, masquerade balls and sloppy kisses; such as the one they shared now. He had loved Pansy, but not enough to sacrifice his life. Her lips slid against his and he moved almost lazily, responding only when she urged him with persistent cues.

"Pansy—" he said as they broke apart for a moment to take a breath. Her only response was to pull him closer. "Pansy!" he said again, this time pulling his head back.

She looked up at him with her brown eyes and scowled. "What?"

"Drool."

Wordlessly—because this had happened _so_ many times before—she pulled out a pack of tissues from her designer bag and handed it Draco.

"Sorry," she said, giggling. "Boy I'll miss this."

"Watching me wipe your spit from my face? You freak."

"I meant snogging, you oaf!"

"You mean you'll take a vow of chastity?"

"As if!"

Draco smirked evilly. "I hope my next girlfriend—"

"No one in their right mind would want to date you," Pansy said, leaning forward to give Draco a kiss on the cheek.

"It's okay, you've given me plenty of experience to handle crazy women. And what's not to love about me? I'm charming and nasty."

"There's one thing I regret," said Pansy, squeezing him tight. "I didn't make use of you enough."

"What," he asked, half-joking, "You mean, all those handbags weren't enough?"

Pansy sniffed into his shirt. "No, that's not what I meant."

"Oh yeah. I always knew you were using me for my body."

Pansy let out a loud sob and she wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. "I just can't believe you're leaving today!"

"Of all days, right? It's not like you knew for the whole of last year."

"Why did you have to take your NEWTS _this_ winter? I thought I'd have at least one last year with you in Hogwarts."

"That'd be a complete waste of time." The memories of what happened during the Battle would plague him the entire time. Plus, he wouldn't have his little entourage. And what was life without a band of followers behind you?

"But that would've meant we could spend more time together."

"You were the one who wanted to break up."

"You did too."

"Long distance would never work," he added and he frowned when he heard the familiar sound of cameras clicking, seeing flashes off going off like a firework display. "Ugh."

"…I would have received too much attention. This isn't just about me, the other students would be affected too," Hermione said to a reporter as he shoved a recorder to her face.

"With her being in America for the next three years, how do you think your relationship will fare?"

"That's between us—" Hermione protested, having enough of her love life published and broadcast everywhere.

"What, Hermione? People are probably _dying _to know! We are kind of famous y'know." Ron leaned forward in excitement and grabbed the recorder out of the reporter's hand. "If our love held up while we were fighting with Voldemort, I can't imagine distance being a problem."

Reporters cooed at his declaration of love and at saying You-Know-Who's name aloud (people still refrained from saying it aloud out of sheer habit) and they cheered when Ron grabbed Hermione and gave her a loud, dramatic kiss. Hermione blushed—she could never initiate public affection—but returned the favour.

_At least _he_ was enjoying the attention_, Draco thought.

"Please," Hermione said after the display. "Could you please leave us, I'd like to spend our last moments in private."

Ron wrapped his arms around her and nodded. "Please. Just remember there will be plenty more of this from years to come."

The reporters laughed good-naturedly and in nothing short of a miracle, began to disperse. Draco's mouth hung open. Being a war-hero really was something; even the media who had finally lost interest in him after months and months of hounding listened to what the Golden Trio said.

Draco and Pansy mirrored each other's expression of pure disgust and turned away from the mass of reporters and the Golden Couple.

"Bet they won't last a week," Pansy said in a particularly loud and obnoxious tone so there was no chance for the couple to miss what she said.

Ron made a disgusted noise and stomped towards them. "Ron, don't. She's not worth our time."

Pins struggled to stay in Hermione's hair and from the slickness of her hair. Draco grinned; he could tell she spent at least an hour with a bottle of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion having expected cameras.

"Draco, let's go somewhere else," whined Pansy, breaking him out of his observations. "I don't want to get too close. They have fleas!" Draco's gaze lingered on Hermione's face just to catch her reaction—a scowl—before turning away. "Like EW!"

"Malfoy." Hermione stopped in front of him, her neck rigid with tension. Ron turned bright red as though he was a volcano, about to erupt.

"Granger."

"Pug-face!"

"Freckle-face!"

"You're here," Hermione said to Draco. _Of course, he's here!_ she thought. _He's standing in front of me._

"Yes I am." Draco wrinkled his brow and his mind went on an overdrive to decipher what all these signs meant. She was at the departure gates at exactly the same time as him.

Salem Institute's orientation day was starting in two days' time.

Hermione Granger was a smart girl and she declined the offer to be the Head of the Magical Law department. She said she needed to educate herself further before taking a position with such a large responsibility.

She bit her lips and wondered what to say. She hadn't seen him since the Battle of Hogwarts but read plenty about him in the newspaper. "Salem?" she asked, having arrived to the same conclusion as him.

"Yes."

"What?" Ron asked. He appeared by Hermione's side, having grown tired of arguing with Pansy who for all her frivolity was an endless come-back machine. "_You,_ you're going to Salem? How did you get in? Buy your way in there with your dad's dirty money?"

"Ron!" Hermione snapped, heat rising to her face.

Draco looked at him as though he was an offending piece of rubbish. "I am not going to respond to that."

"You don't know what you're talking about. You idiot!" Pansy screamed at Ron before turning to Hermione. "Control him! He's embarrassing!"

"I'm not some animal!"

Hermione stepped in front of Ron, shooting him a furious look. "Can you not cause a scene and just wish me a goodbye?" she asked in a hushed whisper. Hermione tugged Ron's arm and lead him away.

The fire died in Ron's eyes and he grabbed her hands in his. "Sorry, 'ermione. Today was meant to be all about you. I'm sorry." He gave her a zillion-watt smile, and she flashed a smile back at him, just as bright, and showered him with kisses.

"Can you believe him?" Pansy fumed as Draco pulled her to the side. "They should put a collar on the likes of him! That animal," she huffed. "That Mudblood should have kept him on his leash—"

"Pansy."

"If this was Hogwarts I would have ordered Goyle to push him off the Astronomy Tower. Show them who's on top." She looked up at Draco and sighed when she saw the look on his face. "Whoops, sorry! I forgot, you've graduated from calling people that."

"That was Pucey's condition on being my patron." That didn't seem like a bad deal for Draco. "In the end, all my relatives were so consumed with hate for Muggles and non-purebloods, they didn't even care or love what they were supposed to be protecting. They gave up their humanity to protect their beliefs. I don't want to end up like them."

"Yes, yes. All propriety and no bullying makes Draco one dull boy. No wonder I'm dumping you." She went on her tip-toes and gave a kiss on his cheek. "That's what I'll tell them anyway."

He couldn't help but smile. "As if they would believe you."

"Oh, I'll make them."

"You are the best at spinning stories."

"I hate you."

"I know."

They hung in each other's embrace for a while longer before Pansy pulled back. "You should go," she said, looking down so Draco wouldn't see the tears forming in her eyes. He had told her on more than once occasion that he rather gouge his eyes out than watch her cry.

She knew it didn't mean that he would risk his vision to prevent her from crying, but sometimes she liked to interpret it that way.

Made things kind of romantic, in a morbid sense.

"So… I guess that's it," he said, pulling his arms off her and shoving them into his pockets.

"Yup."

"You know, I might actually miss you. See you," he said. He squeezed her once on the shoulder and headed towards the departure gates without a second look back.

He didn't even wait for Pansy to say good-bye. That jerk.

* * *

><p>The Muggle Revolution: Effective Solutions to Electromagnetic Interference<p>

Author(s): K. Hwang, A. Pucey, P. White

Source: _Transactions of the Institute of British Magic,_ New Serial, Vol 18:3 (2000), pp 309-325.

ABSTRACT: In this paper, we identify the underlying problem with Muggle technology and magic as electromagnetic interference (EMI). We report the successful compatibility with magic and Muggle devices when they are built with the addition of a Faraday Cage (mesh constructed of ferrite metals) and supplementary charms. We find in our three models, integration with Muggle technology – electricity, battery, and associated devices are functional and operational with 95% supply reliability...

* * *

><p>Draco and Hermione lined up behind other passengers as they waited to get their coats and hand-held luggage examined by the Customs. She rushed after Draco and grabbed his arm as soon after she collected her luggage.<p>

"Granger?"

"I'm sorry," she blurted out. "What Ron said about your father… and your money. I hope you'll accept my apology."

"It's not like you were the one who said it."

"Still… I truly am sorry," she said, turning red while wondering why she was apologising to him.

"For what?" He rose one eyebrow at her.

"F-For what happened to you."

"Thank you?" he said, confused at her words.

Cue the most awful silence between the two.

"So… are you going to see Pansy in the holidays?" she asked when the awkward silence between them reached an unbearable saturation point.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "We just broke up."

"Oh." Was all she could say. _They sure were touchy-feely for two people not in a relationship._

"Long distance relationships are a waste of time."

"Well!" said Hermione. "You don't know about that!" She lifted her chin as though she were meeting a challenge. "I'm sure _some _relationships can survive the distance. I mean, if you're meant to be together."

"You think you're meant to be with Weaselbee?" asked Draco, wrinkling his nose.

"Better than pug-face Pansy!" she snapped before regret filled her features. "Sorry, I didn't mean that."

Draco shrugged. "Guess Pansy and I weren't meant to be."

"There's always second chances. Maybe when you come back."

"Maybe." Draco's head tilted to the side, unconvinced of this.

Hermione gave a cautious smile. "There are. I'll prove to you second chances exist."

"Sorry?"

"When we arrive in Salem. Let's start off on a clean slate. Pretend not to know each other. Who knows, we might end up being friends."

"We invite those in first class step forward…"

He looked up at the attendant who had amplified her voice with her wand. "That's me." Draco hesitated before offering his hand to her. Hermione accepted his hand without delay and gave him a firm handshake. "To second chances," she said. Draco gave Hermione a shy smile and found her expression mirrored his.

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy," said the attendant, smiling up at him.

As the boat lifted off the water, it rumbled and shook as it made its ascent. Two people sat on one flying ship with fifty seats between them. In first class was Draco Malfoy, trying not to hurl his lunch. He never liked flying boats but they were definitely the safest for long-distance travels. Port-Keys of course were faster, but the risk of letting go of the key when one were travelling between two countries meant grievous injury or finding oneself dead in the middle of nowhere. In the economy-seat, Hermione gripped the side of her chair as she swallowed multiple times to clear her ears, handling the change in altitude better than Draco.

The boat rose above the turbulence and soon the seatbelt signs over their heads flickered off. The two on the boat stared out of their windows, lost in thought. Hermione kept a steady heart believing her relationship would withstand the distance while Draco nursed his sore (but not broken) heart. Something had just transpired beyond their awareness, and they could no longer say they loathed each other's existence.

Draco looked through the window, mulling over the burning question which would continue to plague him for the better half of the decade as he headed towards his destination. A flight attendant walked the length of the ship, making sure everyone was comfortable in their seats. He brushed past Draco, and the blond snapped out of his reverie as the man apologised to him.

"_Sorry." – _Hermione's words echoed in his head. _Second chances._ He smiled a rare smile without malice.

* * *

><p><span>Author note<span>: First things first, a disclaimer. JKR owns HP, not me. I've been wanting to write something lighter, fast-paced, and a story more involved with society post-War. Hence, this story was born. Needless to say, this is not a sequel or related in anyway to DMHQS. A huge thank you to my alpha-reader, hiddenhibernian; and my beta-reader for this story, MysticDew.

Please review!


	2. Chapter One: Arty Artie's Number Problem

_I Love(d) You (Once)_

Chapter One: Arty Artie's Number Problem

* * *

><p>It began like this.<p>

_It was like cannibalism, until the prey fought back. _That was what Hermione Granger said to Draco Malfoy twenty minutes after the incident in the comfort of their office, but right now the two of them could only stare at the scene in horror.

A hideous woman sitting in front of Draco in a ridiculous purple suit, being the same width and height, drew the most unflattering resemblance to a giant grape. She was dying—as were the rest of the human race— but she was accelerating towards death at a phenomenal speed and all she could do was flail her arms in the air as she choked on one tiny grape. Her huge forearms swept across the table and everything, the glass of water, the bowl of grapes and her large bag (and all its contents) spilt onto the carpet floor.

"Director Mar!" Hermione's chair clattered to the floor when she shot out of her chair.

Director Mar flounced on the floor. She crept up onto her all-fours and heaved like a cat trying to cough up a stubborn fur-ball caught in its throat.

"What do we do?" asked Mr. Bughes, his eyes wide with panic.

"Call for an ambulance," suggested Artie, flipping open his phone. The brown-haired man dialed for the emergency services and pressed his phone to his ear. "The medics can Apparate and take her away—"

"Does anyone know how to perform the Heimlich maneuver?" asked Draco, looking around the crowded hotel restaurant. Everyone had stood up and peered at the spectacle.

"HERAGH!" Director Mar coughed and the grape lodged in her throat flew out of her mouth and rolled a couple feet.

"Oh, thank goodness you're all right," Hermione said, placing her hand against her heart.

"Uh, sorry, she's all right now. We won't be needing assistance anymore. Thank you!"

"Is the contract safe...?" Mr. Bughes made his way back to his seat and picked up his pen.

"The contract?" Director Mar bent down and picked up the slim black file.

"We're lucky no water spilt onto it," said Draco, giving her a pen to sign immediately, just in case she decided to collapse from the shock or something.

Director Mar picked her chair up and it creaked when she placed her entire weight on it. "Done," she said as she scrawled her complicated signature across the bottom of one page. She handed it to Mr. Bughes.

He accepted the pen and scrawled his name across it too. He stood up, relief in his face and smiled as he shook the lady's hand. "Pleasure doing business with you."

"Artie, as our intern would you like to do the honours? Say the words that close the deal?" Hermione placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder and he grinned at her.

"On behalf of Prewett and Pucey, we have witnessed and authorized a transaction between the Mar and Bughes Companies."

Nosy people in the restaurant broke out into applause at the sign of a happy ending. After all, the woman hadn't died, the intern was given the credit and the business deal completed without delay. That was what it seemed like, and what Draco and Hermione thought occurred.

They didn't realize until three hours later.

* * *

><p>Muggle Technology and Its Impacts on Our Society: A Contemporary Introduction<p>

By N.E Colt

Stormwell Publishers Ltd, 2005

INTRODUCTION:

Following the findings of Dr. Hwang's teams in 2000, we are within the third wave of the Muggle Revolution. While the growth of Muggle things and science have become commonplace in our everyday lives, the full impacts of the imported technology has not yet been realized. Have we lost our identity as a magical community? What kind of gifts did you receive last Christmas? Do you prefer to use a cell phone or Fire Conference when talking with your mates?

* * *

><p><strong>(22 December; Arty Artie's Problem with Numbers)<strong>

Five years since they met at the International Terminal, flew across the Atlantic Ocean on a flying boat, and spent three years together in the same cohort, Draco and Hermione became close classmates. Though they lost contact in the year after returning from America, due to new jobs and separate social circles, they became colleagues when Pucey and Prewett – the two largest Hired-help and Civil Consultancy firms decided to join hands. Sharing a large office with someone for six months did certain things.

Hermione had once said the long hours they spent together could only make them closer or drive them to poison each other's lunches.

"Granger…" Draco said as he looked inside a black file he was about to hand to his boss, Maurice Pucey. "What's this?"

Hermione took the file out of his hands, inspected the contents and her expression morphed from faint confusion to express horror, all intentions to eat out for lunch forgotten. _Merlin!_ "Where's Artie?" she managed to squeak out.

_Da dum… da dum… da dum—dadumda—_

A phone vibrated three floors below vibrated and its display lit up; it made a loud buzzing noise as the phone against a wooden surface.

"Hate to break you love birds up, but that's your phone." A woman with curly brown hair and hazel skin picked it off the countertop and threw it at the couple.

Artie who was sitting on the lunchroom couch beside his girlfriend caught the phone. "Thanks, Martha."

"Who's Shark?" she asked. Leave it up to Artie to set the Jaw's theme song especially for the caller. He was the type to pay exhausting detail to trivial things and tended to overlook important matters. "Draco Malfoy? I guess it fits his image."

"Sh!" said the girlfriend, Ellen. Cute and petite, with lush, long black hair, she had eyes that turned into thin lines whenever she smiled. She was an angel… at least that was what Artie told Martha the first time he introduced her, but in Martha's opinion as a professional third-wheel, it remained to be seen.

Martha stuck her tongue at Ellen and she glared back at her. "Hermione? Why's she the shark?" she asked Artie again.

"Something Draco called her yesterday…" Ellen said for him but never managed to finish the answer as Artie shot out of his seat, his face painted in varied shades of gray.

"Uh… I have to go." He rushed for the door, flung it open and rushed out.

Ellen and Martha heard him clamber up the fire escape.

"Well, bye." Martha shook her head and headed back into the staff kitchen to make her coffee. "And this was the first time I got to see him this week. I swear, the two of them overwork him."

"They just finished up the Mar-Bughes deal," Ellen sighed and got out of her chair. "Hope he's not in trouble. You know how he is when he's stressed."

"I swear it's because he's with you," Martha called out over the whistle of the kettle.

"Or maybe it's because of your face!"

"Real classy."

* * *

><p>Artie wasn't in trouble, but he felt like he was about to have vultures eat his entrails. The last three weeks he'd spent tailing Hermione had been what Ellen called three 'ex's. Extraordinary, exhausting and <em>excruciating<em>. Draco Malfoy had called her a shark because like one, she had to keep moving or she would die. Everything was sink or swim.

The elevator door slid open—Pucey got rid of the rattling ones after the first wave of Muggle technology hit the wizarding community after the war—and he ran his fingers through his brown hair and straightened his navy suit before he rapped twice on a door with two name plaques hanging on its front.

_Hermione Granger_

_Draco Malfoy_

_Junior Partners_

He opened the door and gulped when he saw his two superiors. Draco sat behind his desk like a man with an offer you couldn't refuse and Hermione stood beside him. Their gazes zeroed onto him as he stepped through the threshold.

Hermione handed him the black file they had taken from the hotel. "Read it."

Artie leafed through the content. The Mar-Bughes deal.

"Read the contract," clarified Draco in a voice which suggested murder would be on his hands in the imminent future.

Artie's bottom lip wobbled. He felt weak in the knees and not because he was oh so besotted by Draco's charming _exterior_, but because he was afraid of Draco's murderous _interior_. Artie scrambled to the back of the file and his eyes grew wide when he saw it—

"How many zeroes are in a million?" asked Hermione in a kind teacher's voice. It was often said Draco Malfoy, his bosses' partner, was an arsehole. But compared to Hermione Granger's temper, Draco was nicest arsehole you'd ever meet.

"Six."

"Correct. Now how many zeroes are there in the contract?"

Hermione Granger was like a shark, aggressive, with a tendency to rip your head off if she felt irritated or peckish (or at least that's what Draco meant yesterday).

"Holy shit…" Artie's windpipe constricted and he heard a roar in his ears. "I…" started Artie. He had a horrible, bad-flip-floppy feeling in his stomach now.

Six. What an interesting number. The third positive even number. People sometimes had six fingers and toes. Six came after five. Haha.

"The answer's four," said Draco. "_Obviously,_ you don't know how to count."

"W-What do I do?" He looked like a possum caught scavenging in your neighbour's rubbish bin.

"Can you explain to me why you _said_ there were _six_ zeros yesterday and today there are _four_," she said, "_After_ the client signed the _contract_?"

The numbers Four and Six danced around Artie's head, taunting him. He always hated numbers. He didn't become a Liberal Art's major in Salem Institute and seek a job at Prewett's consultant firm because he liked numbers.

Hermione looked down at her scrunched hands and blinked away the tears threatening to spill. "We can fix this."

"No you can't," said Draco. "The intern _here,"—_he glared at Artie as he said this—"screwed up royally. We need to tell Pucey and Prewett and see what we can do."

"No," she said again, her voice even more strangled this time. "We can find a way. They won't even have to know. I'll schedule an appointment with Director Mar, I'll try convince her to sign a contract."

"Would you in your right mind, sign a contract which makes you pay 4,950,000 galleons _more_?"

Hermione looked down at her shoes before she rushed past Artie. "Excuse me," she said in an unhinged voice. She covered her hands with her face; she didn't want to cry in front of them.

"And this is why I find the immunity rule ridiculous," spat Draco, looking as though he wanted to set Artie on fire. "Why does the mentor get all the blame when the intern screws up? A P&P internship should have stuck with the usual clause: 'The intern agrees to indemnify any claims against Pucey and Prewett which arise from the wilful misconduct or negligence of his or her part.' But _nooo_, sole responsibility rests on the mentor."

The younger man failed to make an excuse.

"…shouldn't have trusted you…" grumbled Draco, "I should _not_ have listened to Granger when she told me to treat you like an actual employee in the company."

"I…"

"Congratulations, you've just ruined the career of the Brightest Witch of Our Generation."

Hermione made it to the toilets and managed to lock herself into a cubicle before she burst into tears. _Five million galleons!_ Her fingers tried to tease the toilet paper out of the dispenser but she couldn't pull it out… tiny bits of tissue fell onto the floor and she stomped on them with venomous spite. Hot tears dripped onto her black pencil skirt.

The bathroom door slammed open. A pair of shoes squeaked against the tiled floors and Hermione _should've_ realized heels always _clacked_ on hard surfaces—and there was a knock on her cubicle door which she ignored.

She needed to talk to Director Mar immediately. See if she'd change back to the original contract.

The person rapped on the door again.

"It's taken!" she snapped. There were two more stalls and they had been empty when she came in.

"I know."

"This is the girl's toilet you know." _It wasn't like _he _was in any particular trouble, _she thought. _Pucey might yell at him but Artie's my intern so I'm the one getting sacked._

"Yes, I can read," he said wryly.

_If only Artie had the same skill!_ She scrunched up the ends of her skirt with her fists as she thought this. "Just give me a minute. I swear, if you leave me alone for a minute I will come out."

"I'll be waiting in our office."

She sat on the toilet seat and finally managed to yank a section of the toilet roll out of the dispenser. She dried her eyes, blew her nose and collected herself before swinging the door open. As much as she loved making plans, she was horrible at it, and from experience her plans were doomed to fail.

But an idea was hatching in her mind. Their bosses' end-of-year leave began tomorrow and were on a break until the 5th of January. That gave her time. She could ask the Director to re-sign the contract and her boss would be none the wiser. She could retrieve the five million galleons before their bosses found out.

* * *

><p>Martha snorted as she buzzed Artie and Ellen into the company. Ellen had just told her about Artie's mistake so she would be careful around him and cheer him up—as his best friend of course. "Are you an idiot or something?" she asked him.<p>

"Martha!" Ellen said, offended.

"Martha!" The other girl mimicked her. She turned to Artie and shook him by the shoulders. "Honestly, you believe you could be _that_ careless?"

Artie hung his head in shame. "I screwed up."

Martha climbed onto the receptionist's desk and swung herself around so she could stand on the other side. "Excuse me for I am a mere uneducated receptionist, but exactly how many times did you have to write five million?"

He wrinkled his brow. "Many times?"

"And you did this over a period of?"

"Four days."

"You _did _know a million had five zeroes, right?"

"There's six."

"Good," Martha said, nodding her head. "So you're telling me you made a mistake of writing four zeroes _every single time_ over four days?"

"That is unlikely," Ellen conceded. "You wrote up the draft contract and once Hermione made the proper corrections you copied it word for word, right? She would have noticed something like that."

He nodded.

"Forgive me for being a cynic here, but I smell foul play." She hopped over to her desk, pressed a series of buttons and held the receiver to her ear. "Yes, is this Hermione? It's Martha here. You're needed down at the reception. Is Draco in the office too? Good. Tell him to come down as well. It's an emergency."

"Wouldn't it make sense if we went up to their office?" asked Ellen.

Martha shook her head and placed her hands on her hips. "Ellen," she said her voice full of cloying honey. "It would not."

"Pray tell why?"

"Because I'm the _receptionist_. And I'm under contract to stay at my desk unless I'm on break but I refuse to miss out on yelling at Hermione and Draco. That's got to be a once in a lifetime thing. Take a seat," she said, putting on a customer-service smile and pointed to the leather couch beside her desk.

Artie leaned onto the desk. "Thanks, mate. You might've saved me. When Hermione said I screwed up, I just accepted it. She's usually right."

"Usually is not _always,"_ grumbled Martha. "When you're not star struck like me, you see things clearly. What _I_ can't believe is that Ellen believed it too. It's not like she's a stranger to the rich and famous people prancing around her."

"Martha…"

"But I guess that's why you're lucky to have a _girlfriend_ and a _best mate_," she said to him with a cuttingly bland smile. "One accepts you for whoever you turn out to be while the other doesn't take any bullshit."

* * *

><p>If anyone bothered to come in on the pre-Christmas Eve Day (ceremoniously known as the official 'Skip Work, it's <em>Almost<em> Christmas' Day), they could have seen a curious sight of Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Artie Sommers, Ellen Kim huddled around the receptionist, Martha Capra's, desk.

"So in short, who benefits from this if it's a fraud?" Hermione asked, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Draco drummed his fingers on Martha's desk. "Director Mar, obviously. She gets all the supplies for a cheap price."

"Let's not forget P&P would have to shoulder the cost for Bughes. They'll be paying little for all those benefits," said Ellen, flicking through the pages of the contract. "Bughes is also one of the companies against Pucey merging with Prewett. He said in a press conference three months back a lack of competition between two big firms would take up all the jobs. He's also against us getting Ministry-approved. Thinks P&P should stick only to civil cases and leave their fingers out of the criminal ones."

"Hate to break up your little talk, but look at this," he said, pointing to a sentence in the middle of a page, "I thought you changed it back, but I remember changing this sentence in the final draft. I think this is the second-to-last version we sent to Mar and Bughes."

"So the culprit is Director Mar then," said Artie. "Her choking on the grape. They must've been staged it."

"The contract fell on the floor and she picked it up," Hermione said. "She must've prepared a separate contract and switched it then."

"Mr. Bughes' shock looked real enough to me," said Draco, the mastermind of deceit and insincere expressions.

"But we can't be sure. You shouldn't go accusing people of things like that without proper proof," said Martha to Hermione and Draco. Hermione turned to Artie and took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry I assumed you were the one who screwed up, I should have had more faith in you."

"Don't worry about it, even I didn't have enough faith in myself."

Everybody turned to look at Draco shuffling in his shoes. "What?" he said, turning away. "He's not_ my _intern. Why do I have to apologise?" Hermione shot him a glare and punched him on the shoulder. "Fine, fine! Artie, I'm sorry for doubting you. Not that I had _any_ reason for doing so." The three girls shot another glare at him but he shrugged it off, that was the closest thing he was going to give to Artie.

"You should you tell Mr. Prewett and Mr. Pucey about this. I think they would be the best people to handle this sort of thing," said Ellen, looking uncertain.

"Or we could just ask for a re-sign," suggested Martha. She picked up the receiver and listened to the shrill ring. "I'll ask the Mar Company receptionist to schedule you in for a quick appointment today. The receptionist community is close."

Ellen rolled her eyes as Martha crossed the fingers on her free hand together, to show just how tight-knit the community was and she shook her head.

"Hello, Jenny. This is Martha. Merry Christmas to you, too! I was wondering if you could do me a small favour…"

* * *

><p>"Come in," Jenny said when Hermione had announced her arrival at the Mar Company. "You may see the Director now."<p>

"Miss Granger," Director Mar said to her. She sat on a couch next to her desk, and sipped on cup of coffee. "Why did you ask to meet me? We've already signed the deal. Everything's confirmed and ready to go." The way she smiled made Hermione realize she knew _exactly_ what she was here for. _It is her! She's the one who's doing this._

"I believe we made a little mistake," Hermione began, taking the seat offered to her. She gritted her teeth and fought to stay calm. Honesty was the best path to take. She would admit their mistake and see what to do from there.

"Really?" said Director Mar with a condescending grin on her face. It was the same expression Hermione wore after she devoured a whole jar of cookies on a Friday night. And in the same way she felt sick after finishing all the chocolate goodness, Hermione could only hope Director Mar would feel sick and _defeated_ by the time she walked out of this room.

Come on, she was the heroine of the story; fate_ had _to be working with her. "The contract is different to what we've discussed. We have to re-sign it." She gave a folder for the Director to read over.

"So it is. Lucky for me the latter contract works out in my favour. The contract's not going to change… again."

"Director Mar!" She wanted to strangle the woman, but being bound under the social contract, she restrained herself, choosing to go through the Potions Solubility flow-chart in her head. It calmed her a little. "Did you replace the contract?"

"What do you mean?" she asked with an air of innocence. "That's a serious accusation. Do you have any evidence of this?"

"No," admitted Hermione.

"Didn't think so. If you've got any evidence come and charge me. Otherwise, tell your boss how you made a mistake. He's not the type to believe in conjectures."

A noise thrummed in her head and she turned green at the thought of having to shoulder the responsibility of the mess. Artie might get some of the blame, P&P would never consider him as an employee after this mess but she would… she could lose her job over this. Though she was the company's rising star, a cute '_whoopsie daisy'_ or _'te-he! I made a mistake'_ couldn't cover losing 4,950,000 galleons. She was going to get the Hogwarts equivalent of expulsion.

Fired.

Hermione Granger, who had graduated top of her year from Salem, was going to be fired. She would lose her dream job, where her boss allowed her to choose from the broad range of cases, she would never again feel the satisfaction of completing an assignment, knowing that she had helped someone and contributed to the good of society...

"I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do."

"Nothing you _would_ do," she retorted.

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione snatched the folder away from the director and stormed out of the reception. She grabbed a handful of powder and yelled "Pucey & Prewett Firm". As much as she hated herself right now, she would _not _cry in front of Director Mar. She climbed out of the fireplace and ran to seek refuge in the office she shared with Draco.

Her tears resided when she saw the lone man sitting in their office, finishing up on the accounts and her heart leapt at the sight of him. Here was someone she could rely on. Draco Malfoy was incredible at connoting schemes. With his help she could succeed.

"Malfoy?" she called out to him and she fidgeted, pulling out random books from the self-reference shelf by the door.

"Hm?" He didn't look up from his cup of disgusting sweet coffee brewed with exactly sixty coffee beans. During college, he had an insane obsession of adopting rituals of great men in hopes of becoming one. He didn't know if it pulled him onto such a path but it got him through college. That itself was a miracle.

"Director Mar did it and..."

He saw her expression and his heart plummeted. "You couldn't get her to re-sign the contract. She's not the type to leave evidence hanging round either. I bet she burned the real contract first thing."

"Draco Malfoy, you know how much I love you?" said Hermione.

When she asked him that Draco should have taken it as a signal to grab his tailored coat and run for the door. The bushy-haired woman in front of him was bad news and she was about to drag him into her personal tragedy.

"Tell me something I don't know," said Draco as he rolled his eyes. "How long have we been having the affair for? Three years?"

"Try five," said Hermione smiling.

"Wow, time sure flies."

"Seriously, Malfoy. You don't know what a delight you are." Hermione sniffed and tried to brush the tears away from her eyes before Draco could notice. But he did.

"So what are you going to do about it?" asked Draco, crossing his arms.

"What do you mean 'you'?" she asked, taking a deep breath. "You mean 'us', right?"

"Oh _hell_, no. Granger. I am not getting involved in this," said Draco. "We're going to tell P&P exactly what happened."

"Without evidence they can't believe us. You know how they work."

"Um-hum."

Hermione pursed her lips, indignant. "We're a team. We are only as strong as our weakest link!" she said. "I need help."

Draco stared out of the window for a bit, he drummed his fingers on the table, an inane bad habit which had driven him mad when he first saw her do it. Then he started hearing phantom taps so he picked up her little quirk whenever he thought, having decided real taps sounded more _sane_ and preferable.

"Please," she said, her voice wobbled and she sounded like she would burst into tears if he said no. "Give me a way out, a plan. Anything."

_Tap. Tap. Tap._ The seconds to Hermione amounted to infinity as he made his choice. "I have a plan. But it might not work," he said.

Her smile blossomed and his heart zoomed around his ribcage. Despite the resolution he made countless times throughout the last five years, he didn't like seeing Hermione upset. Who wouldn't jump at the chance to prove himself as the Prince Charming and rescue the damsel in distress? Even though the princess was pretty much betrothed with another prince. Not that the Weasel was a prince!

"Anything is better than nothing. What's the plan?"

A large part of it started like this.

**Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Merry Christmas and a happy new year!**


	3. Chapter Two: Feelings Lie

_I Love(d) You (Once)_

Chapter Two: Feelings Lie

* * *

><p><strong>(Two days later)<strong>

Snow covered the sidewalks in dirty sludge and made everyone's shoes wet, but most people out on Christmas didn't care or even notice this sort of thing. They were too busy being in love.

The infamous red-head, whom he referred as The Weasel, Hermione's steady boyfriend (not that Draco had anything to say in the matter… that'd be weird) had his arms wrapped around a pretty blonde. She styled her hair in soft ringlets, and had a perfect figure for a magazine.

_Ron Weasley, that pathetic bastard,_ thought Draco. _How could_ _you cheat on Hermione? AND ON CHRISTMAS NO LESS! _

The couple walked into a hotel and Draco almost lost them at the revolving doors. He caught a glimpse of red and he ducked behind the counter, ignoring the faint and concerned gasp of the receptionist.

"Hello, sir," the receptionist said in his best customer voice. Drunk people at six already? Well, it was Christmas after all.

Draco pressed his head against the mahogany table top and took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing pulse. In a few moments he planned to expose that LYING SONUVA Draco always knew he was. "Sh," Draco silenced him, "I'm on a mission right now."

"Draco Malfoy," the receptionist breathed.

"Yup." He shifted his body so he remained hidden behind the counter. Any moment now, he was going to catch Ron red-handed. Draco peeked out from behind the desk and saw the red head and the blonde _holding _hands. Their hands never left each other, even when they ate. Draco made a face at the inefficiency of their consumption methods. The blonde giggled when the man kissed her hand. "In plain view too. To put it on _your _words, you're somewhat famous you know. Have some shame!"

He stomped over to the couple and prepared to rip Ron the-bastard-Draco-always-knew-he-was Weasley into the next century.

"Zho's this?" the blonde woman said, a worry line creasing her angelic—almost too beautiful to be human—face. But with more important things to do than stare at this exquisite piece of femininity, Draco skidded into place and slammed both of his palms onto the couple's table for dramatic effect, Interrogation-Room Style.

"Weasley, you—"

"Hm?" The red head turned and Draco's jaw-dropped.

"Bill Weasley?"

"That's me," the man replied with a wolfish grin.

Of course. He should have realized. There was no way Ron could snag such a babe anyway. The flaming red hair was a _family_ trait and Ron had what, five brothers or something? Their family had bred like rodents. They called their home "The _Burrow" _for crying out loud.

"And you're Fleur Delacour," he said.

"Wealsey, not Delacour."

"Ha-ha-ha!" Draco laughed. "What a _happy _coincidence. I came over because I thought…" Draco started, thinking quick on his feet. He looked at the food on the table. "Your steak was too raw!"

And it was. The slab of steak swam in bloody juice and dyed the potatoes into a pastel pink colour.

"That's unacceptable," he continued on. "You should send it back."

Billy laughed and seemed to accept the explanation. "Thanks mate, but I ordered it like this on purpose."

"After a werewolf scratched zim," Fleur said, "ze likes his meat a little zit raw."

"That's, er… wonderful," said Draco, retreating. "Enjoy your meal then."

Bill and Fleur nodded at him, the latter still wondering why he had approached their table.

"Merry Christmas!"

"Bye!"

Bah humbug.

That was the last time, Draco promised to himself, he would embarrass himself like that. There was no way Ron would cheat on Hermione. Even _he _wasn't stupid_ enough_ to risk his relationship in such a way. Draco headed towards the Floo, ignoring the obvious stares from restaurant goers and the receptionist. "Never again," he vowed. "Never again."

* * *

><p>The Christmas lights lit the buildings which surrounded them in a cheery glow. Ron kept his body close to Hermione's, and kept his best to keep them warm as they trudged through the streets of Paris.<p>

Hermione stopped to admire the view around her, and although she had to admit sometimes wizards had no idea how to operate Muggle technology, the floating lanterns and fairy lights strung across the trees complemented each other.

That was more than she could say about how Molly used washing machines. Not that she had the right to complain. She ought to be grateful, Hermione chided herself.

The Weasleys had built them a temporary (but not so temporary because Ron had been living there for five years and two for her) extension next to The Burrow. The Weasley family referred to the property fondly as the The (Love) Nest.

But one day she had come home to find their small apartment flooded. And she just _loved_ the fact Ron had given Molly a spare key without consulting her first.

If there was one thing Hermione loved, it was having her privacy invaded. Ha, ha, ha!

But at least, she consoled herself, the laundry's getting done. When they decided to move in together, Hermione had anticipated that Ron would be a slob. She didn't realise she'd be a slob too. One would think charming the laundry and dishes to do their own dirty work (haha) would be a piece of cake, but somehow Hermione and Ron never got round to waving their wands and chanting three syllables.

"What are you thinking of?" Ron asked, his warm breath dancing on the planes of her cheek.

"We need to do our dishes when we get back."

"Hermione! We are in one of the most romantic places on earth and you're thinking about the dishes back home?" exclaimed Ron, slapping the back of his hand on his forehead like a damsel in distress. He picked her off her feet and whirled her around. She screamed in delight as powdered snow swished around them. Ron placed her down on the ground again, this time facing the Eiffel Tower. It glowed in the distance; its light blurred by the fog and snow.

Ron pointed at the Tower. "Paris! Love! Romance! And Ginny's yelling at me for not having a single romantic bone in my body—"

Hermione shoved a handful of snow into his mouth. It soaked her mittens and she laughed at his expression.

"Hermione!" He planted a trail of kisses and Hermione giggled and sighed in his embrace.

"I don't think it'll ever get better than this," he murmured in his ears, tightening his hold on her. Hermione's scrunched her face and hugged Ron even tighter, her heart pounding in her chest.

* * *

><p><strong>(1900 London)<strong>

Draco opened the door to his modest apartment, hoping to nurse his public mortification with a gallon of ice-cream and some sappy Muggle film on the telly designed for single fools like him. Maybe some silly soap opera with a tragic storyline and childhood love would air tonight. Draco snorted. Not that he wanted to get back with his childhood love. After the period of insanity he deemed as his "teenage years" passed, Pansy and he discovered the best thing they could do was to stay out of each other's pants (or skirt) and be friends.

"Ah, Draco-_boy_, you're home!" His sometimes-worse-enemy sat on his couch and welcomed him home with open arms. "You look like you're heading for the gallows. Let me guess, you saw a certain brunette today."

"No." He scowled and shoved Blaise's legs off one side of the couch, making room for himself. "And it would be nice if you left me alone for tonight."

"What kind of friend would I be if I left you in such a state?"

"A compassionate one."

A knowing leer flared up Blaise's face. "Ah, so it is about _her_."

Draco sighed and felt a rush of deja vu, knowing from previous times in the last few years exactly how this conversation would end. There was nothing to be done but to give in, and being Draco's best mate since he could count, Blaise had witness him do unbearably worse things. Blaise wouldn't judge him for what he did today. He would find it hilarious. "I saw a certain red-head with a leggy blonde today."

"What? But you said the Weasel and Granger's relationship was _perfect_. What kind of sick kid cheats on their girlfriend on during the Christmas season?"

Draco sighed and sank into the couch, wishing it would swallow him up. "So I followed them."

"Bet you did. I told you you'd have a thing for her when you told me you were working together—"

"To see Fleur Weasley."

"Oh, with his brother's wife? Double nasty—"

"And Bill Weasley."

Blaise snorted and erupted cackles. "You are hopeless! I can't believe you fancy someone you bullied in Hogwarts _and_ is happily in a long-term relationship with Ronald Weasley." He put a hand on his friend's shoulder and lowered his voice, hoping what he was about to say next would not only reach Draco's brain — for he had no doubt the blond knew this fact long ago — but his heart. "For all his red-hair, freckles and stupidity, he would _never_ cheat on her."

Draco tried to suffocate himself with a pillow, still scarred from the event. "I don't like her now," grumbled Draco. "I've thought long and hard about it—"

"Proves that you've been thinking a lot about Granger—"

"I just admire all the_ qualities_ she has. While I would want someone _like_ her, it doesn't mean that I want _her_."

"Yeah, yeah. You've told me this all before. And remember? The first time you told me, I determined that a lie. If you were that Pinocchio guy, your nose would reach up to the moon."

Draco sighed. "Okay, maybe I liked her a little bit—"

"Yeah, if you count three years as 'a little bit'."

"I don't even like her."

"And you haven't had a proper girlfriend since, what? Pansy?"

"Being a death eater and having been accused of murdering your father isn't a great quality to have in a potential boyfriend."

"Some people dig the bad boys. I'm living proof of the fact." Blaise watched his friend cross his arms and sulk and sensed Draco was in one of his stubborn moods and decided to give up… for now. He got up from the couch and reached into the fridge. "But you didn't even get convicted. The courts found you innocent. Want anything?"

"But to everyone, I'm the slippery eel that managed to get away." Draco didn't reject the glass of firewhiskey Blaise placed in his hand when he came back from the kitchen.

"Mate, you can't live like this; pining only after a girl who is unavailable, and not looking out for other prospects."

"I'm not doing that. I'm… what?" he asked when he saw Blaise's mouth stretch into a Cheshire-cat grin. Draco blinked a few times, and the firewhiskey had left a strange acrid taste in his mouth.

"We're going out to Parkinson's," said Blaise, beaming. "What's a party without us?"

Draco groaned. "I've told you I didn't want to go. Leave me to my telly and ice-cream."

"Do you think I would allow you to spend the whole night _sulking_?" said Blaise, taking the glass from Draco's hands. "I thought you just said you were going to look for someone else."

Draco shook his head. "I did. But I have a feeling, and it's screaming at me to stay at home."

"Well, I have 'a feeling' too."

"And?

"It's telling me those feelings often lie. C'mon!"

* * *

><p>TBC<p> 


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